


Dlya Glagola

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Deaf Character, Disabled Character, First Time, M/M, Romance, Russian, Sign Language, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-27
Updated: 2009-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I referred in another part of this verse to Sean's "restless period" in the eighteenth century at the time Craig and Orlando became pets, so here it is.  This can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dlya Glagola

**Author's Note:**

> The Tangled Histories verse exists in a world where the existence of vampires is known and accepted, and a handful of vampire families make up somewhere between two and ten percent of the world population. In this verse, vampires are not affected by sunlight and there is no great universal conflict between mortals and immortal. Vampires generally only take human blood that is offered willingly, and there are plenty of humans willing to offer. They can only die from not feeding enough and perhaps a few other rare conditions. The most important things to these vampires are age, family, and respect. Various pairings will be explored in the verse, and stories may jump around the chronology, but I'm going to try to write so that they can be read as standalones. In other words, I'm trying to avoid a WIP series, and there's no telling how long it'll take me to tell these stories, but they'll appear sporadically and all be listed under the Tangled Histories heading in my fic index.

  
It was a bitter cold winter when Sean arrived in Russia, but he didn't blink. It was merely the natural end to a rather haphazard journey, one that had begun seven years previous and for whatever reason ended up in St. Petersburg. It was the longest period to date that Sean had been away from his sires since his transformation six hundred years before, but he didn't miss them greatly. He had no doubt that he would come back, but at the moment he needed to be away. The world was waking up to their existence and he didn't like it one bit, being known. He preferred silence and secrecy, and the sanctity of their haven.

He had started the trip, with their blessing, heading east by boat from Scotland to Norway, but he did not continue due east from there to Russia, instead taking a meandering route through Sweden and then south into Denmark. He tarried there a while, staying until he came across with some shock a distant relative of Viggo's, not realising the connection until after he'd bitten the young man and asked his surname. He then turned south again through the Holy Roman Empire and all the way to Naples and even the island of Sardinia before he decided that this was not his destination, either, and changed his course. Following the northern coast of Africa, he spent time in Anatolia and Persia, even western China, before finding himself in the Russian Empire.

He found St. Petersburg mesmerizing, and he liked the biting cold, the white perfection of the snow and the strange architecture rising up from its pristine ground cover. After a week in the city, he found the waif-like figure stamping his feet in a doorway, his thin wool coat barely keeping out the cold as he pulled a bow across his strings with reddened fingers, his eyes closed. Sean watched a minute before he spoke, one of the few Russian words he'd learned so far.

"Zdrastvuytye."

The boy went on playing, and Sean said another two words, louder.

"Ochen krasiviy."

The boy did not react, and Sean thought him a bit rude, but then maybe he was simply wrapped up in his tune. Gently, Sean pushed his boot against the boy's, and his eyes flew open.

Sean smiled softly, not wanting to startle him. "Ochen krasiviy," he repeated, and the boy smiled, blushing a little. He was small but stunning, thick dark curls framing an elongated face with deep-set brown eyes, pale skin and pink cheeks. "Do you speak English?" The boy frowned, squinting at him, and then put his instrument in its case, on top of a few coins, and pulled a piece of parchment from his coat pocket, scribbling on it with a lead pencil. He held the strange writing up to Sean and he shook his head, frowning. The boy cocked his head, confused, and then Sean realised that he was deaf. Thinking for a moment, he took the boy's parchment and drew an English flag, pointing to himself. The boy looked at it, and then looked up, smiling in recognition and making a sound.

 _A deaf violinist?_ Sean thought to himself, but sat in the doorway next to him, reaching down into his pocket and pulling a wad of Russian notes from it, handing them to the boy. He looked down and counted, his eyes wide, and shook his head.

"Da," Sean insisted, nodding and touching the boy's cheek gently. "Pazhaluysta."

The boy looked slightly scared, and Sean thought quickly, pointing to himself.

"Sean," he said, moving his lips in an exaggerated fashion, then pointed to the boy.

"Nikolai," the boy replied in a strange but lovely baritone. Sean smiled and repeated it, and he showed the boy all the other notes in his pocket, patting his hand.

"Yours," he said, pointing again, then mimicked eating. The boy nodded, smiling sheepishly.

"Spaseeba," he mumbled, and Sean understood him though barely. The boy watched him a long minute, then said another word. "Volshebni."

Sean shook his head and the boy wrote it down, pointing across the street to a bookshop.

"Angliski," he said, and Sean nodded. He held his hand up, gesturing for the boy to wait, and then ran across the street, stepping into the shop. The woman, indeed, spoke English, and told him the meaning of the word – magic. He asked if there was an English-Russian dictionary in the shop, and she showed him one, very expensive, but he had the money. He ran back across the street and knelt in front of the boy, pointing to the piece of paper and nodding. Then he flipped through the dictionary, finding the words and copying them down in the lovely Cyrillic script.

 _Ya vampir. Ne sdelayu vam bolna._

The boy stared for a long minute after reading the words, and Sean pointed again to the second sentence. _I will not hurt you._ The boy nodded and took the dictionary, finding the word he wanted and copying it down.

 _Hungry?_

He pointed to his neck and Sean swallowed, again pointing to the second sentence and then rising slowly to his feet, beckoning the boy to follow. He packed the violin carefully away in his case and then he stood, their footprints leading twin tracks away from the spot in the snow.

~*~

The room in the inn Sean had rented was large and ornately furnished, intended for travelling noblemen. The boy circled its perimeter in awe, touching the brass handles and embellishments on the large wooden dresser, the thick velvet curtains now closed, and Sean's gleaming metal shaving implements.

"Careful, they're sharp," Sean warned, too late as Nikolai's finger caught the blade of the straight razor and the heady scent of blood wafted through the warm air of the room. Nikolai looked up and met Sean's eyes, hunger undisguised. They couldn’t speak, and Sean couldn't ask permission, but the intentional tilt of Nikolai's neck was unambiguous. Sean stepped forward and took his hand, gently taking the instrument case from him and laying it on a chair, then tugging Nikolai to a divan and helping him to sit, laying his head back. Sean knelt at his side, stroking the vein gently with his fingertips and watching the blood pulse at the surface. He lifted Nikolai's hand and swiped at the shallow cut with his tongue, closing the wound and savouring the flavour.

When he felt Nikolai's body relax, Sean knelt up again, preparing to strike, but Nikolai too leaned up and Sean paused. Hesitating slightly, the boy leaned in and pressed his lips to Sean's, took in a sharp little breath, and gave Sean a questioning look. Groaning deep in his throat, Sean pressed his hands to Nikolai's face and kissed him deeply, stroking his hair, relishing the way Nikolai's thin arms surrounded his neck and held him tightly to the boy's chest.

"Krasiviy," Sean murmured, fishing the paper from the folds of his clothing and pointing again to that second sentence. _I will not hurt you._

Nikolai nodded and pressed his fingers to Sean's lips, feeling his chin and neck and down to his chest. Sean let him explore, waiting patiently as Nikolai tilted his head and pressed a kiss to Sean's neck, pressing his body close.

"Krasiviy," the boy echoed, smiling shyly and pressing his cheek to Sean's chest.

Sean smiled, feeling a surge of tenderness towards this young mortal, and stroked his hair as gently as if he were a porcelain doll, holding him a long moment before Nikolai leaned up and kissed his lips again, reclining once more on the divan and exposing his neck, pointing. Though he would have liked to do more, Sean had no way of knowing what this boy's experience was with the ways of love, and he didn't want to take too much without having any way to ask. So he did as he was bidden, bending to the soft pale neck and holding the boy's waist as he pierced the vein, drinking deeply and moaning low in his throat as he did so. Nikolai trembled and let out a sound of his own, and Sean wondered if he could feel the vibrations. He couldn't ask, so he drank his fill and then carried the young angel to his bed, bundling him tightly and then stretching out alongside to watch him sleep.

~*~

 _17 December, 1719_

I have met the most remarkable man. Boy, really, is more accurate, for he cannot be more than seventeen or eighteen years old. He cannot hear, and yet he is a violinist, and not a bad one given his disability. His skin is nearly as pale as the snow, but his eyes and hair are dark and he skates upon a knife's edge between pure innocence and most welcome knowledge. I have fed from him, as you may have guessed, and he asked willingly, and was intimate though not in the way that we three are, or in the way of the boys of Paris and London. Still, he has the sweetest kiss.

My heart is uncertain, for though I know I might turn him, or take him for a pet, and in truth I have longed for something more these past few years, aside from my frustrations at the end of our secrecy – you must have guessed, and I hope you will not be angry with me – I do not feel with absolute knowledge that he is the one, that he must be mine. Still, I feel a sort of love, only beginning to blossom, that is different and yet refreshing. If you have any advice, I would be glad to hear it.

Your son,  
Sean

~*~

Sean did not need to feed the next day, but nor did he want to let this newfound beauty out into the cold. Flipping through the pages of the dictionary he found the word for "stay" and wrote it on the parchment, accompanied by a question mark. The smile was genuine, and the boy nodded. Sean grinned and kissed him gently, hoping to convey his gratitude.

Later in the day, after they had taken a turn around the neighbourhood, found dinner for the boy and a beverage to warm him up, and then returned to the lavish rooms, Sean asked him a question. Cradling his arms as if a baby, he pointed to Nikolai and then to his ear, tilting his head to indicate the interrogative. Nikolai shook his head sharply and frowned. After a moment he took the parchment and drew the figure of a man, and pointed to himself. Then he drew another man, and next to him a house, walking his fingers slowly from the figure of himself to the man and the house. Sean nodded. He held up three fingers, then flipped through the book and wrote a word – years – indicating "ago" with a backward jerk of his thumb. He drew a heart between the two stick figures, and then frowned, standing straight. With a loud, angry noise, he boxed Sean in the ears with his fists – apparently recognizing Sean's invincibility. Sean stared at him in horrified recognition and the boy nodded, sadly. He pointed to the violin, and then pulled one of Sean's notes from his pocket, holding his arms out wide.

"You made a lot of money?" Sean asked, pulling a whole wad of notes from his own pocket to demonstrate, fanning them out and pointing to the violin. Nikolai nodded, then pointed to the man, then grabbed the notes from Sean's hand quickly, holding them a moment before handing them back. He shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. Sean had no words, and so he sat close by, bending his lips to Nikolai's ear in silent comfort.

~*~

 _18 December, 1719_

 _I learned more about Nikolai today, perhaps more than I ever wanted to know. He was able to explain to me, through signs, that he did quite well for himself as a musician – he must have been very young – and that three years ago, he fell in love with a man, who let Nikolai share his home and then beat him badly, rendering him deaf and taking all that he owned. I gather that his playing has deteriorated greatly since that time, or he would have the ability to return to his occupation, rather than playing for coins in doorways. I asked for more information and was able to learn a little – the man's name was Andrei, he was a nobleman, he no longer lives in St. Petersburg. He has family with an estate near Moscow, though. I have no idea what need he could have for the money, what self-hatred could lead him to bring violence upon such an innocent. I want to kill him. I think I could find him, but that would require leaving Nikolai and that, I cannot do. I look forward to your reply._

 _Your son,  
Sean_

~*~

 _25 January, 1720_

 _Dearest Sean,_

 _Your timing is impeccable, for we too have some news to impart. We are of course delighted to hear from you as a general matter, though we never worried. We sensed that you had reached your destination finally, and were both happy to know that. As for your lovely Russian boy, your instincts are always right. If a man is meant to be your pet, or if you are meant to sire him, you will know in an instant. You may take your time, studying him or questioning yourself, but you will know. We did with you, my child. Some relationships are meant only to last the duration of the mortal life, and some mortals are meant to die. You must trust this, not hate it. It is the way of the world._

 _As for your revenge on this monster that hurt the man whom you are growing to love, your instinct is also correct. Do not leave Nikolai so that you can do a heroic deed. The most heroic deed of all is to stay, to love and nurture this boy, and to give him the heart that I know so well. It is strong and pure and any mortal is blessed to have it for as many years as you will give._

 _As for our news, we have also come across someone, or in fact, two someones. Though we have sensed your absolute exaltation over this past month, and are thrilled to have felt it, you must also have sensed a change in our own emotions, and perhaps wondered at the cause. We came across a pair of lovely boys – Craig and Orlando are their names – in London. We knew in an instant that they were to be our pets, that we could care for them and that they both would be perfect for our little family. Fortunately, we were able to effect their rescue – we will impart the details later – and so we have claimed them and we travel together until your return, when we will choose a house. Do not fret, Sean, for I use the word "house," and not "home," but you know it is necessary, and knew it when you left us in such a fit. We cannot conduct our public affairs from Scotland, and public affairs there will be. I think that Craig and Orlando will fit marvellously into such a role, and you will be required to have very little part in it. Still, we do not wish to choose the location until you are with us, so please return once your young mortal's time is at an end, and once this bit of business is through we will welcome you to stay, or not, as you wish._

 _Yours,  
Ian_

~*~

When summer came to St. Petersburg, the transformation was even more distinct than in Scotland, the city seeming to wake up from its annual slumber and emerge from the snow more pleasant and animated than Sean had seen it. He and Nikolai took daily walks or carriage rides, exploring the city and its environs, and in May Sean purchased a home that was not particularly large, but certainly comfortable, on the outskirts of the city, along with a carriage and driver and a woman to do the cooking and cleaning. Nikolai, who had at first been somewhat uncomfortable with Sean's riches, seemed to slowly recognize his own value to the vampire – and Sean's serious intentions – and relaxed into the environment.

Though they didn't always need speech to communicate, the bookshop owner was happy to give Sean Russian lessons for a fee, and he proved a quick study, stocking up on ink and paper and writing Nikolai long letters, even though they shared a home, delighting in the young man's giggle as he read through them with Sean right there in the room. They also began to develop secret signs for each other using their hands, their own common language, and Nikolai learned to read lips more proficiently, an art he had attempted in the past but with which he'd had little success without a constant companion with whom he could practice. He began to learn the shapes of the few English words that Sean would mutter instinctively as well, and over time they grew to understand each other almost perfectly.

Thanks to the Emperor's obsession with Western Europe, news of the vampires' emergence came more quickly to St. Petersburg than to other parts of Russia, but Sean was able still to live in relative obscurity. He gathered that there was some truth to the fairy stories, that there were a large number of vampires in Romania and perhaps the rest of the region. In July, he met Alexei, who confirmed his suspicion. Alexei was one of about twenty vampires in the city, all descended from the same family whose ancestor was a vampire born in Istanbul a hundred years after Sean's birth. Alexei estimated that that vampire had perhaps four to five hundred descendants, as fear in the time of the crusades and later the Ottoman invasion had led them to turn mortals very quickly, and not always with the sort of connection that bound Sean to his sires. He did not say it to Alexei, who was five generations removed from that first vampire and a little over two hundred years old when Sean met him, but Sean suspected that this made their line weaker, though numerous. Still, Alexei was pleasant if suspicious, and something of a help in understanding the city.

At the summer solstice, they took a long walk that ended with a cool bath in the nearby stream, and sex on a very sturdy old desk that barely wobbled, though in truth Sean restrained himself more than a little. They embraced in the bed, on top of the sheets, and Nikolai traced countless interlocking circles on Sean's chest, humming tunelessly under his breath. Sean touched his own chest, and then Nikolai's face, with both hands – their sign for "I love you" – and kissed the boy deeply. Their signs involved more bodily contact than the languages that would soon develop in France and spread to Russia, but it was more intimate and Sean would never have any desire to learn the "official" language later, after Nikolai died. Theirs was a thousand times more beautiful, and the more so for being secret.

"Precious," Sean whispered in Nikolai's ear, and the boy looked up again, feeling the tickling breath. "Mine," he signed, his hands first on Nikolai's neck and then slowly drawing back to curl into loose fists near his own chest. Nikolai smiled and nodded.

"Da," he said out loud, closing his eyes and relaxing contentedly in Sean's arms.

Hundreds of years later, he still remembers every nuance of their language, which developed into a full complexity to mark their days as Nikolai turned thirty, and fifty, and finally succumbed to illness, signing a final "I love you" when his lungs were too pained to speak with words. And then his hands unfolded into upturned supplication, the slightly curled fingertips facing Sean – "Please." He drank for the last time, as they had agreed, and tears fell on the lifeless neck as he cradled his lover in his arms.

Though the loss was one of Sean's most difficult as a vampire, he still cherishes the memories of that far-off time, which swirls now like a dream that he cannot quite reach in waking hours. And one hot afternoon at the peak of summer, he presses his hands to his chest and to Dominic's face, teaching him a language of love too deep for words, a language he knows Nikolai would want Dominic to experience. Sean is not a religious man, but he still feels him sometimes, and believes that he is happy. He is there in a kiss, or an embrace, and in Dominic's most childish smile, the notes of a happy melody half-remembered.  


**Author's Note:**

> I speak Russian, but I am terrible at guessing the standard transliteration, so pardon any missteps. I wasn't going to be mean enough to write the dialogue in Cyrillic. Also, I suppose the dates of the letters would technically be off from each other since Russia was on the Julian calendar and England on the Gregorian, but you know, let's not and say we did.


End file.
